Surprise - Feyre's Birthday Fic
by Eliniei
Summary: In order to give Feyre the birthday she deserves, Rhys gets up early in order to get things ready. Things do not go as planned.


Feyre's eyes fluttered open, the bright morning sun warming her face. She smiled, sleepily, and stretched while under the heavy blanket they used for winter nights. After turning over on her side and wrapping herself up in the comforter, she closed her eyes once again, not ready to go about her day just yet. She reached to her mate's side of the bed to feel the warmth of his skin on her fingertips. To remind herself that this was real.

"Mm?" Her smile faded and she ran her hand along the sheets where he usually would have been. She lifted her head off of the pillow a few inches and squinted in the light. "Rhys?"

When an answer did not come, Feyre sat up entirely, the blanket falling from her shoulders. She shivered against the unexpected cold that kissed the bare skin her nightgown exposed. She rubbed one of her eyes with a hand and looked around the room. It was silent and empty.

"Rhys?" she said, louder. A chill went down her spine, but not from the cold. Her sleep-addled mind had no idea what to make of this.

 _Where is he?_

"Rhysand," she tried, angrily. "This isn't funny."

Nothing.

"Hmph." She slid her legs out from under the blanket and stood on the plush rug under her feet. As the High Lady reached for the light robe that hung from the bedpost, a loud crash sounded through the townhouse.

Feyre jumped, caught completely off guard, and dropped the robe to the floor. The second her composure was regained, she rushed for the door. After throwing it open, an awful smell smacked her right in the face.

 _What the…?_

She flew down the stairs and straight into the kitchen.

What she saw before her made her eyes widen.

The kitchen was less of a mess and more of a disaster.

A silver pot sat, upside down, on the floor. Something gooey-looking was splattered under it. All around it, broken egg shells and yolks littered the wood. Another pot was on one of the stove's burners, a light-brown mass bubbling inside of it. On the other burner, a pan was frying a food that may have once been bacon. Finally, at the end of this mess, Rhys stood leaning over the counter, a bowl of batter beneath him. The sleeves of his black shirt were rolled up to his elbows and the front was dusted with flour handprints. He was leaning his forehead into his hand, his eyes closed. He let out a frustrated huff. She'd never seen her High Lord in such a state.

None of the kitchen staff were in sight.

Suddenly, realization dawned on her. Today...

 _Is this…?_

Feyre took the room in again and tried to keep herself from smiling.

"Rhys?"

Her mate's eyes shot open and he lifted his head. He stared at her for a few moments, unsure of what to say.

"What's going on?"

Rhys straightened and looked towards the stove.

"Well…," he started and cleared his throat. "I was trying to…"

He stopped, and pursed his lips together. He smiled, nervously.

"As it turns out, I can't cook very well." He let out an exasperated laugh.

"So, you aren't really perfect, then?" Feyre clicked her tongue and moved towards the mess on the floor. She waved it away. The wood was pristine and shiny again, as if just waxed. She smiled as she went for the stove. "Well, that just won't do…"

The High Lord's smile faltered as she worked. She waved away the mess of burnt food, leaving the pans clean and cool.

"What will I ever do with an imperfect mate?"

Feyre turned towards him. She huffed out a small laugh, and reached to wipe the flour spots from his face. His smile returned, still small and nervous, as she put her hands on her hips.

"What was all this?" she said, as she motioned to the pans.

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, leaving more flour in his wake.

"I thought that you should have a proper birthday." He looked down and flicked some invisible lint off of his pants. "I thought you deserved it. It was supposed to be breakfast in bed..."

A wave of shock went through her, and she stared at him, wide-eyed.

"But now I've gone and messed it up."

"Oh, Rhys," she said, her lips forming a wide smile. She jumped into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He caught her around the waist and held her tightly against him. "You are perfect."

He took in her whole face. The happiness in her smile travelled to her eyes. His face lit up too, and he gently pressed a kiss to her lips. He laid small kisses from the corner of her mouth to the tip of her ear.

"You're gorgeous," he whispered. She giggled and tried to swat him away from the tickle his breath gave her. He held on tighter and swung her around. Feyre half screamed, half laughed as he did, Rhys letting out a laugh of his own.

"I love you, Rhys."

He opened his mouth to respond but they heard the door to the house open. He released her.

"Feyre!" Mor's voice shouted. "Come in here!"

"She really knows how to ruin a moment," Rhys sighed.

The High Lady looked at her mate, smiled again, and started for the other room.

"Maybe we should dress you, first, darling," he said and snapped his fingers. She looked down and watched as her nightgown was replaced with night court attire. He flicked his wrist and the flour disappeared from his clothes as he led her into the sitting room of their home.

In front of her stood Mor, Amren, and Azriel, red-cheeked from the winter cold of Velaris, holding boxes of various sizes. The whole room had been decorated in her honor.

"Happy Birthday!" Mor squealed, and wrapped her in a hug. Feyre's eyes filled with tears and she laughed.

"This is amazing."

Mor released her, and she curled back into the waiting arms of her mate.

"We just wanted to make sure that you knew how much we love you," Rhys said. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

"Where's Cassian?"

As if right on cue, the Illyrian warrior made his way in from outside and shut the door behind him. Everyone in the room looked towards him. His good-natured smile turned into confusion as he sniffed the air.

"Hey, what died in here?" He looked towards his brother. "And what's that white stuff in your hair?"

Feyre looked up at Rhys, a light blush and shocked expression spreading across his face. She buried her face in his shirt and burst out laughing.

"I love you all, too."


End file.
